Little Emperor
by architect of planets
Summary: The past remained in the past. Whatever his ancestor thought mattered little. Salazar Slytherin was ancient history. Famous founder or not, Tom would be damned before he let some dead fool dictate who was worthy and who was not. His Empress was a muggle and she was still the most perfect human being to ever grace the face of Earth. She deserved everything. fem!HJP/TMR
1. Chapter 1

**This is pure self-indulgence.**

Tom Riddle was used to getting stomped on; by his peers, by the matrons, by life itself even. He was used to having to struggle for the most basic of needs, to fight tooth and nail with everything and everyone to get what he wanted.

He remembered locking out a 10-year old girl during a snow storm. When the new caretaker found her frozen corpse in the morning, with blood caking her knuckles, she had blamed herself for dismissing the bangs and the screams as the howls of the storm.

Tom heard the young woman had hung herself in her apartment during the weekend.

No one noticed how the dead girl's blanket found its way to his room and he felt no need to point it out. Blame Billy for stealing his blanket and the drunkard of the head matron for ignoring his request for another. Tom did what he had to do to survive winter, alone in his room, with no roommate to share body heat with.

He didn't want to die. Not until he got out of his personal hellhole at least.

On the rare occasions the matron had taken the orphans to expeditions thorough the city, Tom had observed. He saw people of all class, the rich barely hiding their sneer, the factory workers offering a tired smile or two.

He envied them all; for their freedom, for their ability to stretch their potential, to travel and never come back. They didn't have to sit in a tiny room with chipped paint all day for their own safety and stare out the window.

Day in, day out.

Get up early and sneak into the kitchen for breakfast they wouldn't give him. Hide behind his door until lunch and don't let anyone near his table. Do all the chores without complaining even though it was supposed to be someone else's turn. Avoid fights during dinner so his sleep wouldn't be interrupted by pain and nightmares.

Hurt them if they hurt you. Make them cower, make them fear. Ignore the whispers, the venomous words.

Endure it all.

Do not, under any circumstances, let hope rise.

Tom could handle broken fingers and bruised knees just fine. He just never figured out how to handle disappointment. Physical pain would pass, his body would heal and forget the sting of blood. Tom could always grit his teeth and wait for it to be over.

It wouldn't linger the way memories could, the twisting bitterness of hope dashed. It stayed in his mind, stuck somewhere between his ribs and behind his eyelids; festering, rotting.

A hopeful couple would take him in despite the warnings of Miss Cole. They would give him his own room and shyly discuss their future with him in it. He'd listen and adjust his behavior into what they wanted, what they were hoping for. A scared child, an obedient son. No matter, as long as it got him food and maybe even books.

But then he'd slip up.

No matter how tightly Tom would hold the fire in his blood and the ice beneath his heart, the power he had would spring up the moment his guard was down. After, there will be yells, accusations and trips to the nearest church. They'd call him a hell spawn, the Devil, and drag him back to Wool Orphanage.

He'd be lucky if they left it at that. Tom had known some couples that spread rumors about him, rumors about the orphanage. Less people would come, more children would be angry and Tom would have to sleep with one eye open.

He hated it.

So he hid in his room and waited for the days to pass as fast as possible. He celebrated his birthday. The day that marked the passage of one year; one more year he managed to survive, one less year he has to wait to be free. Maybe not rich, maybe not happy, but free nonetheless.

So yes. Tom was used to hardship, to everything jagged and resentful. All nine years of his life relied around strife and hunger. He was bitter, he was distrustful and cruelty was never a stranger to him. He didn't expect his life to be anything but hard.

So when a woman with blood-red hair and jade eyes made a beeline for his room on the adoption day, he thought that maybe she mistook his room for someone else's. He wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. The numbers on the door were old and some parts of it were chipped off. The nine on his door might be mistaken for three.

Still, she didn't leave the room when she surely realized her mistake. She just stood there, by the foot of his bed, looking right at him.

Tom cleared his throat, more unnerved by her eyes that he would like to be. Still, he held his chin high and didn't look away from her eyes, no matter how intense they seemed. "I think you were looking for David's room. It's on the first floor, closest to the stairs."

The woman smiled, the motion slow and calculated. "I'm here for you, Mr. Riddle. You are Tom Riddle, are you not?"

Without meaning to, he tensed up. People looking for him was never good news. He knew that men, pathetic as they were, would come, wanting to validate their meaningless existence. They'd call him demon, make it seem like everything that went wrong in their lives was his fault and then try to kill him. All for a bit of glory of finally killing the infamous witch child.

No one would help him. Not even his supposed caretakers. He learned that the first time. They would ignore his pleas for help and turn the blind eye and his power would slip from his grasp. Afterwards, they'd give him a wide berth. Not out of guilt, but out of fear.

Tom never expected a woman to seek him.

She was tiny, short and thin. Tom would call her poor and malnourished but the dress she wore was of high quality; the details of the cloth intricate and the color deep blue. Obviously a rich woman, born to old money. She was probably spoilt rotten too, greedy for fame. Tom much preferred them to be meek. At least then they'd leave him be.

He should not be polite in this case. Maybe a bit of aggression and a little demonstration of his power would make her run. Tom concentrated on making his face as blank as possible. Lack of emotion unsettled people; he knew from experience. Then he willed his voice to be monotonous and bored. "I am. What do you want?"

The door rattled, even though both of them knew no one was behind it.

The woman spared the door a glance, her eyes bright with curiosity. She looked back at him, her eyebrows arched in surprise. Tom waited, for the realization, for the shout and the slam of the door.

Instead, he got a dazzling smile.

Feeling wrong-footed in the face of her delight, Tom heard the crack of glass from the window. If anything, she grinned wider. Tom could feel his mask slip up, his eyes widening, his cheeks heating up.

He didn't know what to do with her at all. She wasn't acting the way she was expected to. Tom didn't want her around him. Unpredictable was never good in his books. It only served to make people more dangerous. He needed her to get out and take all the surprises with her.

As if sensing his thoughts, she laughed. Her voice was sweet and melodic, without a hint of malice. And then, slowly, she reached for him. He flinched back, his power gripping her wrists, a line of bruises appearing like a bracelet. That did little to stop her and Tom.

Tom was scared again.

His power had a certain limit; like energy it would have to be refilled. A lot of time Tom relied on people's fear of the unknown to show them their place. He bluffed a lot. So used to lying, he was a master at it. Most of the time, people scattered the moment they felt something grip their ankle. He couldn't hurl them at walls the way they thought he could. Tom never bothered to correct their assumptions.

But this woman.

She had seen his power and she was not running. It was as if she knew the limit of all the harm he could cause and Tom was afraid. He hadn't slipped up in his lies since he was seven and believed Mallory when she said she was her friend. She wasn't. Mallory had only wanted the extra sweets he managed to get from an old landlady for being polite.

He had pushed her out the second floor window when he heard her talk about him behind his back. Tom had lost a lot of energy then and he was locked in his room without food for three days. The matrons and the children tormented him, always so sure that every accident was caused by him and him only. They were right that time, he conceded. But he never regretted it.

He wouldn't regret it this time either.

He strained himself, stretched his power and kept pushing until he heard a crack of bone. Tom felt sweaty and weak and he could tell his glare did little to hide his tiredness but he made sure not to look away from her face. He saw her wince and just barely hide her grimace behind the smile that was surely forced.

She halted but then reached for him still.

Tom shrunk back, closing his eyes, expecting the sting of pain. Maybe she's slap him, like Miss Cole would when she was drunk and unusually brave and stupid. Maybe she's punch him. She was unlike anyone he met. He wouldn't be all that surprised if she fought like a man would.

Tom waited, hating every second he had to endure, anticipating pain and absolutely helpless to do anything about it.

Still, she did nothing to hurt him. He got a small smile, sadder and all the more genuine for it. Tom didn't see her expression but he did feel the gentle touch of someone running their fingers through his hair. Maybe she'd pull on his hair. His hair would regrow, far quickly that it should, but any kind of pain on his scalp caused headache.

But the woman never did anything Tom expected her to. Almost against his will, he leaned into her touch when it continued and remained soft and light. She got bolder after that, used both of her hands to caress his head, his hair and his cheeks. Ever so slowly, she pushed him towards her chest, circling her hands around him. Tom was startled to realize that she was hugging him.

She smelled like the aftermath of rain, wet asphalt and cold air.

He was going to choke on his disappointment later on, he swore. It was going to hurt so bad when she left, he knew.

Tom hugged her back anyway, gripping her dress tightly and nuzzling into her neck. Soft and warm, not at all jagged or painful. He savored everything. The tickling feeling of her blood-red hair, the even exhales of her breath and the steady beats of her heart.

His life was not kind; it would take her away one day. Either she'd leave him when she realized the ridiculousness of her choice, being affectionate with the witch child. Or he'd lose the control of his power again and hurt her, intentionally or not.

But he could prolong the inevitable. He broke her wrist and she hugged him still. She was a bleeding heart. Of that he was sure. Probably heard the stories of him and took them for what they were. The torture of a child, however hellish he may be. Her patience and tolerance might not be endless, but it should be enough for a while.

In the silence of his room, sacred and holy to him, she spoke up. Tom felt the weak vibration of her voice, as sweet and melodic as her laugh. "Hello, Tom. I'm Ari." And then she deemed him worthy of a kiss; a quick peck on the crown of his head.

Absolute agony her absence was going to be, he thought absently.

"I'm here to adopt you. Would you like that?" He nodded in response, shy in a way he never was, not really. The woman baffled him; undoing everything he used to protect himself with gentle voice and gentler touch. He had no idea how to act around her; didn't know what she wanted from him.

That didn't seem to matter much though. Letting the hug end, Ari pulled him up by his hand and guided him downstairs without letting go of it. Tom concentrated on the warmth of her hand. He ignored the glares of the children they passed on their way to the head matron. He could imagine them whispering to each other, thinking he couldn't hear them.

 _Landed himself a rich one, didn't he? That witch boy. What sort of evil magic did he use?_

Tom ignored that too, doing his best to get a whiff of her scent again. Rain and storm.

It was only when he was in Miss Cole's office did Tom allow himself a reaction. He gripped Ari's hand tighter when the old drunkard asked, again and again, if Ari was sure, if _she really wanted that boy. Didn't you hear, miss? Tom was cursed. Possessed by evil of which you'd never imagine. His face is the only thing beautiful about him. Everything else is rotten._

Better the devil you know, people say. But if Miss Cole drove Ari away before he could get at least a week with her, he'd mix the rat poison with her favorite drink and watch her wither away.

Fortunately for Miss Cole, Ari seemed to have a streak of stubbornness few people possessed. She kept insisting for the adoption papers until Miss Cole tried the single mother angle.

The old bat never cared if hopeful parents didn't come in pairs sometimes. As long as there was one less kid to look after, she would let anyone have at it. But Tom had to have a father to be controlled, apparently.

A special treatment.

Ari seemed to realize that too. Her smile dropped little by little until she was practically glaring at the matron.

It all blew over when Miss Cole implied that Ari wouldn't be able to look after Tom as she was practically a child herself. Ari cleared her throat, delicate and haughty, like a true estate lady with too much money and too little sense. Pinning Miss Cole with a smile that was obviously forced, Ari told her in no simple terms if the matron didn't hand over the adoption papers this instant, she'd ruin her and her entire career.

Tom hid his resulting smile in the folds of her dress. The material beneath his cheeks was the softest thing he'd experienced.

He corrected himself when he felt Ari trace circles on his hand with her thumb.

 _Ari was the softest thing he'd experienced._

When she was done with the papers, Ari turned to look at him with a beam. He smiled back hesitantly.

Without sparing a glance to Miss Cole's no doubt red face, Tom followed his personal piece of heaven to the front door. He let her guide him, doing his best to live in the moment. He'd get sent back, he knew that. He'd have to get used to pain again.

But until then, Tom would take what little kindness his life threw at him and hold on until he choked it.

 **Let me know if someone is interested in continuation. Writing a fic is harder than I thought it would be when English is not your first language but it's fun.**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is still self-indulgence.**

Ari had taken him far, far away from the orphanage.

On the rare occasions he was allowed to leave the orphanage and roam the city, it was only few streets over. With a memory as good as his, Tom knew those streets like the back of his hand. He knew the roads; the sickly smell of decay, the sound the cobblestones made under his feet. More often than not, Tom had entertained the idea of navigating them in the dark to escape.

But those plans had holes, most of them regarding the fact that he'd have to rely on someone afterwards. He knew his reputation preceded him, knew that no one normal would take in the witch child. Those who did would be no doubt no better than Miss Cole. Clutching the book of blind faith, deeming themselves worthy to torment another. Righteous even.

 _Burn the witch_ , eh?

Ari though. Tom could depend on Ari, just for a while.

If Tom looked at her without the veil of panic and distrust, he could say that she was indeed a beautiful woman. But appearance never meant anything to him. One could always mar it; take a sharp object and make a mess out of it. So while the deep red of her hair was truly eye-catching and otherworldly, it was her warmth that hooked him in.

It was the fact that she never let go of his hand, not once. She gripped it tightly when the city crowd got too much and held it loosely in the backseat of the black car they hailed. He was looking out the window then, noting the passing of unfamiliar streets and buildings. But half of his attention was on her; on her solid presence, on the softness of her palm. On her occasional wince of pain.

His power was still stretched thin from earlier, but Tom did his best to direct it towards her. He never tried healing someone else and had no idea if it would work. Everyone was very insistent when they said his power was something from hell, after all. Only capable of pain and chaos. Still, Tom wasn't the type to give up before even trying.

He closed his eyes and _willed_ for her wrist to mend itself.

He heard a quiet gasp and then felt Ari's hand sneak around his waist. His eyes sprung open when she dragged him closer to her. He looked up at Ari, about to tell her to go easy on her broken wrist, when he caught the sight of her smile. "It stopped hurting. So suddenly," she told him, her voice no louder than a whisper. "It was you, wasn't it?"

The way she spoke made it seem like she was sharing a secret, the greatest thing ever. No one regarded his power like that. Like something wonderful that needed to be hidden so no one could steal it.

There was something stuck in Tom's throat, so he did the logical thing and nodded in response. Ari gave a quiet hum, as if sensing the turmoil he was experiencing. She then nudged his head with her chin. Getting the silent permission, he burrowed into her side and used her shoulder as a pillow. Tom used his power too much; he could feel exhaustion creeping in.

Ari was bony, so it wasn't exactly the most comfortable sleeping position. Tom fell asleep quicker than he ever did in his life anyway.

Awareness came back to Tom in bursts and pauses. Distant memories and forgotten wishes swam under the veil of his sleep. He thought of thunder and warm blood, cursing his mind for its particularly cruel dream of comfort and safety. But then his senses came back online and he realized that the bed at the orphanage was never this comfortable.

He sat up, fighting the last of sleep and grogginess. Quickly looking around, Tom was ridiculously relieved to note that _no_ , it was most certainly not the orphanage. Ari was real and she brought him here. He didn't know where 'here' was exactly but he'd settle for pretty much anything except the orphanage.

He had never dreamt of those rooms aristocrats bragged about but apparently such a room was exactly what he got. High walls and wide floors, a ridiculously soft bed and windows as big as the walls of his old room. Everything was warm in color and intricate in detail, from the soft beige and rose gold of the wallpapers to the deep burgundy of the furniture. Bright and brighter still under morning sun.

The complete opposite of his room at the orphanage with its cramped space and dull grey colors.

Two days ago Tom would have stayed in the room; dreading meeting his new 'parents'. He would have explored every nook and canny for quick escape routines. He would have considered which books were the most useful to him and shrunk them little by little until they could fit in his pocket. And then when they sent him back he'd have something new to learn.

That was the most he got out of adults.

But he had a feeling Ari would give him more than that. So he didn't linger in the room of rose gold and vast space. Finding his shoes under the bed, he did his best not to think about Ari taking off his shoes when he was asleep before tucking him in bed.

And failed. Miserably so.

He imagined what it would feel like; to have her gentle hands wrapping him in a blanket. He thought that she would lean over him, smiling the dazzling smile of hers, and her hair would hang low like a theatre curtain. It would be a pretty sight, he was sure. She'd give a quick peck on his head. Or maybe it would be slower. Maybe she'd linger to wish him goodnight.

No matter. He just had to go easy on his power today and not fall asleep before her. Play the scared boy, maybe? Ari was an unusually kind woman, to be so sweet to him of all people. He could tug on her heartstrings if he played his cards right. He was a very good observer and manipulator; Tom was pretty sure he could do it.

With that bit of conviction in mind, he turned the doorknob of his new room and stepped into the hallway.

Apparently, everything about the Ari's home was bright, warm and vast. He didn't know if he liked it all that much. Tom felt small and dirty in it. Still, he wouldn't be here forever and he'd put up with feeling a little insignificant as long as he got the last of Ari's good will.

He trailed along the walls until he encountered an actual butler. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with frizzly short hair and light brown eyes. He was wearing something straight out of a Victorian novel; neatly pressed trousers and a jacket that reminded Tom of crows. He was also carrying a silver tray with breakfast on it.

Tom stopped, always cautious of strangers, no matter how unassuming they looked.

The man regarded Tom for a moment, noting the stiff posture. Too stiff for a child his age. He should be carefree, not wary. "You're our young master then?" he asked. Taking the resulting silence for the confusion it was, he elaborated, "Lady Arianne had said she would be bringing in a young boy as her ward. You are him, are you not?"

At the mention of his lady's name, the child relaxed. Lady Arianne was already working her magic then. "Would you like to dine with her? I'm sure she wouldn't mind your company. She'd welcome it even." Without waiting for an answer, the butler started walking. After a moment of consideration, Tom followed.

They walked in silence until they stopped in front of a wide door. The butler pushed it open with one hand and there she was, his latest object of obsession. Sitting behind a table long enough to host a party of two dozen aristocrats, with her blood-red hair pulled into a loose braid. The new hairstyle revealed a curious scar near her right brow, Tom noted.

She looked up at the butler, likely to wish him a good morning. But then she caught the sight of Tom standing not far behind and immediately looked more awake. Ari gave him a sweet smile. "You're up early. Come sit next to me. Let's eat together." she told him, eager in a way no one was when it came to Tom. So he did as she told him without any hesitation.

The food brought to the table might have been the tastiest food he had in his life. Likely the most expensive one too, if one considered the strange hairy fruit called kiwi of all things. They were brought from a place with no winter, Ari had told him when she spied him looking askance.

He had read about it once, of course. Knew in theory that some parts of the world would be completely alien to him. But such places were never more than a passing thought to him. He never considered that he'd be sampling something from foreign lands. It made them seem more real. Maybe even possible for him to get into.

Ari, somehow sensing his wonder, had told him that she'd bring more food from foreign markets and that was that for breakfast.

Afterwards, when Tom refrained from licking his plate clean to save face, Ari had held her arm out in a silent invitation. He took it, gripping her warm hand in his. Clearly pleased with herself, Ari stood up and walked out the dining room with him in tow, practically skipping like a young girl. She chattered all about her home, insisting that now it was his too. Tom didn't bother to correct her.

His temporary home turned out to be few centuries old. Almost the same age as the wine barrels in the winery, apparently. Most of her remarkably large fortune came from that, she told him. One of her ancestors was smart enough to invest in something that would last forever. In alcohol, she said with laughter in her voice. Wine was invented in ancient Rome and lasted this long. One could never go wrong with that.

Tom laughed along with her, his voice quiet and hoarse. He conceded that Ari's ancestor was indeed a smart person, to think so far ahead, and added alcohol-making to the list of works he could do.

Ari wanted her name to mean more than a brand of wine though, she said when they roamed her considerably large property and came across a farm. So she's been investing in all sorts of things she thought people needed, she explained when she picked up a black lamb and handed it to Tom. He tried to give the squirmy, loud thing back to her but she just handed him a bottle of milk.

"That one is an orphan. His mother rejected him," she explained, casual and not at all sad. The black thing latched onto the bottle eagerly, spilling milk everywhere in his haste. "So he depends on us to survive," she continued. It was.

Surprisingly gratifying to know. To have such control over its life and to choose to save it.

"So anyway. I didn't want to just sit around and twiddle my thumbs all my life, you see. It's just not in my nature. I thought why not try to expand the family business? I had little to lose and a lot to gain."

Ari was a surprisingly ambitious person. Most of the women Tom knew were slaves to their husbands. All of them quite pathetic. He liked how driven Ari was; how different.

She didn't say anything about the obstacles she had to face to reach her goals but Tom could read in-between the lines just fine.

A young woman of old money and thorough breeding refusing to marry her suitors? Instead choosing to pursue business, the way only men did? He could imagine the cries of outrage, the scandalous nature of it all. He knew from the gossipy nature of the matrons that the highborn people of London were fickle and delicate lot.

Not at all like his Ari. With her determination to take in the witch child and to threaten the head matron to do so, she was anything but the submissive woman they demanded. Tom liked it; he liked it a lot. Maybe he could learn how to be like that from her. To be so defiant and unashamed; to hold one's head so high in the face of nothing but rejection and prevail.

Maybe that was why she was so damn kind to him. Maybe she could actually understand him, at least a little bit.

Tom found that he really dreaded the day Ari would send him away. The thought constricted his breathing and made his eyes sting. He shouldn't be this attached already. He really shouldn't. It was barely a day now. He was going to be sent back; so fucking what. It wouldn't be any different this time, he tried to reassure himself. Back to pain it was and so- _Pain and fear-_

 _He was going to lose control like that. What was he thinking. He shouldn't be thinking at al-_

And then, suddenly, the black, fluffy thing in his arms licked him, putting him out of his mind. Distracted enough from the absolutely useless thoughts of regrets and hopes, Tom forcibly wrestled his power into control and let the lamb drop none too gently. He closed his eyes and breathed in; once, twice.

When he opened them, Ari was holding the orphaned lamb and the empty bottle of milk. She put the little thing into the fence with the other animals and hung the bottle on a hooked piece of wood. She tapped the part of the fence that was broken in part and Tom knew he was responsible for that one.

He waited. For the punishment at least, if not fear. Ari had to realize that it was his fault she had a broken fence on her hands. And just when she was talking about how proud of her farm she was too. Talk about bad timing.

"I'll ask Horatio to repair it, don't worry," she told him and then reached for his hand. He tensed up.

She held his hand anyway, rubbing circles into it until he stopped imitating a statue. Pulling him close, she gave him a one armed hug and then started walking, guiding him out of the farmland. "It's not bad. The fence will hold the sheep just fine. We'll just replace few woods. That's all," she reassured him.

"But I have one thing to ask of you, Tom," she continued. He wondered if she was going to give him an endless list of chores. Ari didn't seem to be the kind of person to enjoy inflicting pain on others. But maybe she'd work him to the bone. Try to tire him so his power wouldn't act up. It would be fine. It would be smart.

"Explain to me," she asked. And Tom.

Did not follow. Explain what? How did that relate to her request? Was this some kind of test? Did he have to justify his actions? "What?"

"Your power, I mean. Your… _magic_ ," she elaborated, as reverent as she was yesterday in the car. A secret. A treasure. A hidden knowledge she had to understand. "I could tell you were hurting back then. Panicking, really. And the things around you just responded to your distress," she told him. Her observations were surprisingly accurate. Tom was kind of embarrassed he let someone see him in such a state.

Mostly though. Mostly he was.

Glad? Relieved? Touched?

He just felt like _someone was actually looking at him. Someone actually understood_. He wasn't evil. He didn't mean to break the fence. He didn't mean to hurt her. Sometimes things just happened and he had no control of it. His power was his, but sometimes it turned against him too.

And Ari could tell.

She could tell!

And that was good. That was very good. Maybe. Maybe he could stay this time. If he just told Ari. Everything. Anything. She could know him. Maybe she'd accept him. She was always so kind to him. Maybe.

 _Maybe._

For the first time in a long time, Tom felt the fluttering of hope in his chest _._

 **Everyone who reviewed. _Thank you so much._**


	3. Chapter 3

**This self-indulgence is getting out of hand but I ain't stopping.**

Tom clung to Ari, without any pretense or deception. He didn't bother to hide the tremor of his hands and the sudden wetness of his eyes.

Honesty. That was the key, wasn't it?

He was going to bare his soul to this woman of fey beauty and kindness. It was reckless, bordering on foolish. To take that leap of faith of submitting to another person, he'd have to be blind. He had spent years upon years using caution and cunning as his shield. He knew better than to trust people with anything remotely not normal. They were judgmental, they were small-minded. They'd condemn him. They'd cast him down.

But Tom was tired. Exhausted. Down to his brittle bones and sharp mind.

He was sick of fighting life itself to earn his right to eat, drink and sleep; sick of protecting himself from people that were supposed to take care of him in the first place. He never had a moment to simply breathe. Everything in his life was calculated, down to the last second.

All for another day that he might survive. Never live. Living was never an option.

But it could be now.

"I… always had it," he began, halting and unsure. But willing to try he continued, "My power, I mean. Some people say that I've done something evil in my life to earn the Devil's favor. But I didn't. As far as I know, I was born with it." Tom replayed his words, took a deep breath and cursed himself in his head. That made it sound like he was the reincarnation of a truly vile person.

Ari was still keeping him close though, so he ignored his new-found tendency to self-sabotage when honest and kept talking. He thought it would be hard, to reveal all his secrets like so. He thought he would have to force himself to speak up, to pull it all from the dark. But everything was right there, simmering right beneath the surface. It wasn't difficult at all. It felt good. Even with the threat of Ari casting him away, it still felt good.

Freeing, he realized.

Each secret was a burden he had to carry. An armor and a sword, yes. Quintessential to his continuous survival, undoubtedly. But also a weight of blood and resentment shackled to his mind, holding him down, suffocating him. It would bring him safety but not the peace. Never the peace.

He told Ari everything he had wanted to say and never had the chance to.

His power was a part of him. No matter how many times people subjected him to the torture they called 'exorcism', it would stay with him, likely to die with him. Despite what everyone else thought, he had no pride for being able to break all natural laws. He had repeatedly tried to suppress it so maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't be tormented anymore. It never worked.

His power was a curse and one he had to live with.

So he did. He started to practice, started to learn. He figured out how to control it, regarding it more as a limb and less like a parasite. He learned that he could make things move without touching them. There was the limit of size and weight, of course, but he could do it. He was excited then, feeling like he had discovered all the secrets to the universe. But then Miss Cole found him floating his pillow with his gaze and declared him a demon.

In the aftermath, he had to use his power as a tool. A tool of protection, in the beginning. To push away angry people and to keep the doors closed even when there were no locks in place. But when all his pleas for help _, for peace, for anything but pain,_ landed on deaf ears, his power became a weapon. A monster they kept asking for, so a monster he became.

He had accepted things as they were. He was angry and resentful but he never wasted any of his time on dreams of change when it was clear it would not come true. He still _wanted_ though, he realized. His mind could be controlled. His thoughts and plans could be monitored. But people were not known for being able to control their desires.

Tom had wanted someone to see him. He wanted someone to know all of him so he wouldn't feel like the only real person in his life. Not a day ago he would have called such a wish foolish; suicidal even. But now he could understand why he longed for it.

To let go every part of himself he had to hide was like stepping into the sun after lifetime of nothing but darkness. And the sun's name was Ari.

Whether or not the sun would burn him was entirely up to chance now. He gave up everything he could. He spared her of the gritty details but he knew Ari to be a smart woman. She'd read in-between the lines and she'd know. His hands were not clean. There was more than enough blood on them to warrant a visit to jail, only nine years old or not.

The silence and the wait were suffocating, but not as much as the weight of his secrets and lies.

Tom looked around, nothing the decorative garden Ari had led him into. He was so absorbed in his memories he barely noticed the change in scenery. It consisted mostly of lilies of all sorts arranged artfully and looked beautiful in its simplicity. He tried to commit the imagine into his head in case Ari did send him away.

Really though. He should stop expecting Ari to do the expected.

When he was busy avoiding her eyes, because he was a coward and there was no shame there if you wanted to survive, really, Ari had crossed the distance Tom had put between them. He wanted the safety of that, of the possibility that he could run should things go awry. Ari had let him untangle their hands and skip few steps ahead. Mostly for his comfort than anything else, he would realize later.

But that didn't matter much now.

She disregarded every rule of etiquette and personal space people tried to drum into her and folded the hurting, crying soul in front of her into her arms, pressing every inch of his frail body against hers. So small he was, so thin. She clutched him tighter and felt Tom cling back.

Ari was never the type of person one could call maternal. She was more of the type of a gal to run head-first into whatever challenge laid before her and think of the consequences later. So far in her admittedly short life, it had worked out well for her. But she wasn't stupid enough to claim that most of it didn't rely on luck. Fortune favored the bold, yes?

But for the small thing in her arms though. She'd take the backseat and give the best life could offer to him and him only.

She's admit that when she heard of the appalling torment Tom had been subjected to, she had wondered if it was too late for him. The tales the little men told were of the glorified version of grown people ganging up on a child no older than ten. It mattered little that child could fight back with impossible power and bite until blood spilled, she knew. But she had wondered.

She couldn't feel more ashamed of herself.

Ari had gone to Wool Orphanage to see if the tales they told were true. She was too proud of a woman to allow herself to fall for lies. Still, she had let them paint images in her head and mislead her. She had imagined a being full of hatred and desire for pain. What she got instead was a tiny child embodying the very definition of _terrified._

Oh he hid it very well but Ari was Ari. She knew the most pressing of fears was the kind that lurked beneath the surface and never left. So she didn't let the walls Tom put up around him stop her and blundered her way to the heart of the matter. She stole him away from a place that reeked of nothing but despair and hoped for the best.

She didn't actually expect to get the best though. Not until after years of dedicated work, altercations with actual magic and imposed affection.

But here he was, her little secret of magic and keen mind, blossoming under her hands and baring his very being. Others might call Tom ugly, evil even; his mind too sharp and his heart too cold. But Ari would call him beautiful in his resilience and enduring thirst for more.

How strong he was to go against everyone in his life, alone and scared, and come out a survivor.

But being strong did not exempt people from being hurt. This Ari knew better than anyone else. However persevering Tom was, it did not change the fact that he was broken in a way that could never be healed. The trust he put in her was the greatest thing he could give her, she recognized. No one had given up so much to her. Someone could give her a crown of white gold and blood diamonds and she'd reach for Tom still. He was far more important; rarer than any mountain of precious stones.

So she'd be careful with him, as gentle and patient as he needed her to be. He had to be nurtured, cared for, and he'd go farther than anyone else ever did in history. She was absolutely sure of it and Ari always had an eye for successful predictions.

"I'd never turn against you," she swore, on her blood, on her life. "I'd stay loyal to you and you only," she continued, ignoring the almost painful grip Tom had on her. "Whatever path you choose from now on, I'd be right there. To help you, to support you," she said and didn't utter a single false word.

Ari felt something other than the bony hands of a desperate orphan grip her and belatedly realized that the pressure she was experiencing was Tom's _magic_. The invincible force of nature they talked about in whispers. A gift delivered from hell, people would say. But she thought it was something more divine than anything else.

She tried to touch it, to welcome it. But her hands met nothing but air. Still, she thought her intentions were enough; something buzzed along her skin, as gentle as a kiss and a laugh.

 _Magic,_ she thought, _what a fascinating thing._

 _Such a shame I wasn't born with it in this lifetime._

She kissed Tom's temple, more a gust of breath than anything else, and untangled herself from their embrace. She allowed him the dignity of pretending that there were no tear tracks on his cheeks and clasped his fingers between hers.

"You make it sound like you're my royal subject," he told her, his smile wry but raw and honest. Ari chuckled when she realized that she did indeed sound like a knight swearing their allegiance to their king.

"That'd make you a royal then," she replied, only half-joking. With his pale blue eyes and refined features, Tom was certainly beautiful enough to be considered an aristocrat if one ignored his background. For all she knew he could be a bastard child of one. Certainly he carried himself with more dignity and resolve than most adults Ari knew.

Once the thought took hold, it didn't recede.

Lady Arianne Jezebel Peverell, the scandalous wildling daughter of late Lord Peverell. The self-proclaimed businesswoman and bachelorette for life. Collector of the indecent, the criminals and the deviants. All the titles she was quite proud of, thank you very much. She'd just add 'kingmaker' to the list.

With his impossible power and determination, she was fairly sure he'd make it. It might take years, maybe even decades, but they had time. If nothing else, they'd have time and their spirit. It was enough when she was a servant girl, suddenly forced into emerald dress and heavy jewelry. It would enough for him too.

"Well then, my little Emperor," she said and gave a mock bow, deliberately too low. Tom made an irritated noise and tugged her up by her hand. She laughed in response, more delighted by his disgruntled expression that she should be. Truly, how come she had never noticed it before? He was acting like a highborn lord, irritated just so by her little games.

"If I was an Emperor, I would never make you bow," Tom told her, as serious as a heart attack. "Maybe I'd see everyone else plaster themselves to the ground," he contemplated darkly. That would certainly bring him satisfaction. Every person he feared in his life, brought to their knees and forced to beg. It would indeed be a great pleasure to witness. Ari on the other hand...

"But you, Lady Arianne, need only to stand next to me," he said, beyond caring that his words were a double-edged sword. A threat, a jest, bordering on a blood oath he read about in books of legends. She had promised him her presence, to the bitter end. If she delivered, he'd work out how to make her the happiest woman on Earth.

If she didn't… There'd be blood and he'd know better than to trust anyone, ever again.

"Well I did promise, didn't I? I never go back on my word. It would be for shame," she reassured him, somehow taking his plea for what it was. She ran her hands through his hair, once, the way she did in the very beginning. Then, very determined to get out of such deep conversation, she walked in the direction of her home and tried to pick up the light banter they had going on before.

"I demand you to stop all this 'Lady' stuff," she said, all haughty and offended like a princess who stepped into an animal farm. Without skipping a beat Tom mirrored her words, "I would the moment you stop all this 'Little Emperor' stuff."

Ari laughed, loud and free, incautious in a way no one was around Tom Riddle, the witch child. She pretended to think for a moment. Tom simply looked on, serene and calm, maybe for the first time in his life.

With great mock-reluctance she muttered, "I shall be Lady Ari then."

"So it would be, my Lady Ari," he promptly replied. Ari shook her head, still smiling widely, "I didn't know you could be so snarky, my little Emperor. It's quite a delight to discover."

And on it went. The two of them playing the role of a young emperor and his favored lady. The walk to the manor was surprisingly long, Tom suspected that Ari took a few detours, but not at all uncomfortable. It was filled with nothing but easy conversation and moments of laughter. Tom was content.

He wasn't afraid. The oppressing pressure of fear was gone, banished to the back of his memories. Sure, there was still the threat of Ari betraying him and cutting into the deepest parts of his heart but. Right in that moment, when they finally came upon her home's doors and saw the butler from earlier waiting for them with lunch, Tom felt light. And Ari could tell.

She knew that personal demons never died within a day and that they would come back from day to day and explode in a fit of rage and ill-thought words. Adding magic into that mix would be disastrous, she was sure. Still, she had promised to follow him until the end so that would be exactly what she would do.

 _Her little Emperor_ , she thought with dry humor, _make the world bow down to us wretched orphans, wouldn't you?_

A stray wish, faithless and empty, but one that would come true against all the odds.

 **Again. To everyone who've reviewed: thank you. You all know how to make me smile.**


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